Eyes
by leppress
Summary: Vergil is back among humans again, and has a moment of introspection. Written in his POV. One shot. Enjoy.


Eyes:  
  
Summary: For some reason, Vergil has decided to turn philosophical on me. And this came about. It's in first person, and well, just read on. He's being introspective.   
  
Time frame: If he ever came back to the human world. That's all you need to know. It's pretty self-explanatory.  
  
Usual disclaimer: Vergil is from the game Devil May Cry. Capcom owns the game, therefore they own him too. I will make no claims to him, other than what I am inspired to write about him. I am making no financial gain in any way. This is, again, obviously pure fiction.   
  
Oh and huge thanks to Sash for giving me a title and a summary for this. *Hugs* my friend!  
  
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They say, "the eyes are windows to the soul". But somehow, I have to wonder, what of those who can no longer see with their eyes? Do their eyes still share the stories behind what made them what they are?  
  
Or what of those who thought themselves without that single trait that establishes them as different from all other beings? That life force that seems to drive all living creatures in one way or another? Such ponderings have been overtaking my mind lately. Perhaps I am seeking that answer to the eternal, yet somehow very philosophical question: "What is the meaning of life?"  
  
Or the other questions that seem to elude people with their answers, "Why are we here? What exactly is our purpose for being?"  
  
For the longest time, I hadn't asked myself these questions or any others that had anything to do with the philosophical. Or the dogmatic. I was probably far more pragmatic in my ways. Just existing day to day with a single purpose. For the longest time, I didn't consider myself one of those fortunate enough to have that driving force of life, called a soul. The thing that makes us be.  
  
And I often had to wonder, why in so many ways that disturbed me. Why, I felt--jealous? Or forlorn, or melancholic about something I did not have, and therefore, logically, should not have missed. I also told myself, that having a soul, was probably far more trouble than it was worth. And would move on. But something still, was always there at the back of my mind.  
  
I didn't think I had eyes that would allow one to see the soul, I found out much later I do have them. Or is a soul just a romantic and silly notion that someone came up with, in a way to keep us on a straight and narrow path, of doing good.  
  
What of those who are non believers in such things? What do their eyes have to say?   
  
I've walked endlessly some days, looking into those windows. The eyes of people. Sometimes their eyes told me many things. They were weary, happy, sad, or just there. Empty eyes, somehow frightening? Or somehow just poignant in some ways. What made them empty? What took their fire from them? Why are they just existing, instead of living? Or maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see, and not looking any deeper than what they were showing.  
  
Worse, what made them pull the blinds over their windows, and made them cease to see. I had to shake my head, and feel a moment of sympathy for them.  
  
So much to see, so much to learn. How can one put blinders on, and walk without really seeing things? How can one exist, without really living?  
  
I'd lived with blinders on for far too long. Then, I had those blinders torn away, as quickly as someone turning on a light in a very dark room. It's disconcerting to say the least to realize that suddenly the world as you know it, is not the world in its entirety.  
  
That, I too had simply been existing. Not living. Not cherishing this gift that was given to me. This life, this force that drives a person, to eat, to sleep, to breathe, to think.  
  
To love, sometimes to hate, but most of all, to be.  
  
It was more than a shock to my system, to realize that I too, had what I'd always somehow envied in the humans, who seemed to scurry around like ants, upon the earth. What made them scurry? Why were they always in such a hurry? Why were some lonely?  
  
Why would anyone choose to be alone, when there was probably someone longing for their company.   
  
I knew what it was like to be alone. I was alone for many years. I never realized that cold, sad, somehow dark feeling was loneliness. I had no words to describe that feeling. Did not know that I'd longed for the company of my own kind. To hear a voice, to hear laughter. Not the mocking, derisive laughter I'd grown so used to. But true laughter, happy, joyful. Be it laughing at a joke, or for the sheer joy life. I truly longed to hear it. I hadn't a notion why. I even craved the sound of another's voice. Even a mere touch. Oh to feel another again, to know that someone somewhere really cared.  
  
I didn't know why I felt that way. I learned to accept it. Misery was something as normal as the hatred, depression, rage, and contempt, I'd grown so used to over the years.  
  
I am not trying to garner sympathy, just stating facts, as they were.  
  
"Hell ain't no nice place to be", so it's been said, and that couldn't be any more  
  
truthful, than the sun setting and rising every day.  
  
Once again, I go back to the thoughts about eyes. Why? I don't know. I used to think, what I was seeing through weren't true eyes. Not the eyes all living creatures have in some way or another. Be they sensory organs of some sort, or true eyes that can actually SEE the things around them.   
  
I'd been blinded for far too long. By the treachery and deceit of one who shall remain nameless. Once I made my return from the enforced limbo I'd lived in for so long, I hungered for knowledge. What made humans what they are? What made them happy, sad,   
  
hate, love. All those things. I wanted to know.  
  
Because, I found, I was one of them too. I remember one day, coming across a blind man, who was playing guitar while sitting on a sidewalk. That was something normal, I'd found. But somehow this man was different. He wasn't one who was playing to garner an income, but he was playing for the joy of it.  
  
His music was astoundingly beautiful. Music was another thing I had missed desperately. I had vague memories of it, from my early childhood, and once back, I found I enjoyed it again. He was playing an adagio from some classical song. His fingers fairly flying over the strings, as if possessed by the music. His eyes were drawn inward, as if seeing something no one else could see.  
  
I longed to ask him what he was seeing. Then, for once, I actually let myself see into his eyes. Although blind, and not seeing the world around him, I saw absolute joy. How could a man who could no longer appreciate the visual beauty that surrounded him, find so much joy?   
  
When he stopped playing, he looked at me as if he'd sensed me standing there, smiled, and said, "Even the canary though blinded, sings a sweeter song. When one cannot see with their eyes, they learn to see with their heart." He smiled at me.  
  
It was as if an angel had appeared in his place and was smiling. It was beatific. He picked up his guitar and started playing again.  
  
Maybe...In some ways, although a metaphor, that's a lesson to learn.  
  
Yes, I do believe he's right.  
  
Perhaps, I should learn to see with my heart, instead of with my eyes. But, perhaps, I'll also stop hiding from what has made me what I am. I cannot change the past, I can only move forward, and learn from what I've been. If I can become what I want to be, then I'll have succeeded.  
  
Humanity, still confuses me. And, it probably always will. People, and I have to laugh at myself sometimes, because I can honestly say, I am really one of those now. A person, and the irony sometimes does make me laugh out loud, but I digress, people are a strange race. Humanity, in all it's worry, and hurry, running like rats on an exercise wheel, getting no where, but seeming to have some purpose, just amuse me endlessly sometimes. No wonder it's called a "rat race". No more apt description really.  
  
And you know what? I can honestly say, I'm damn proud to be a member of that rat race called humanity.  
  
I'll close for now. Perhaps I'll add to this again someday. Maybe I'll actually have more words to describe my feelings than the metaphors that seem to be the only way I have to express myself right now.   
  
I've got a lot to see with this heart.  
  
Until later... 


End file.
